


the best people in life are free

by hallowgirl



Category: Political RPF - UK 20th-21st c.
Genre: Also Liz in army combats, And Ruth would punch a Scottish guy in a bar for Liz, Because that needs to be talked about more, But Liz likes him anyway, F/F, Fluff, Fluffy Feelings, Les Yay, There is talk of Jeremy's lack of leadership, Warm And Fluffy Feelings, Warm and Fuzzy Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-28
Updated: 2016-05-28
Packaged: 2018-07-10 19:45:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 883
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7003846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hallowgirl/pseuds/hallowgirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>The girl next to her (and any other time, it would be apart from the girl next to her, with almost any of them, it would be apart from) swings her legs and gives a laugh that would be far too much like a giggle for anyone in there, clinks her bottle to Ruth's and gives her a grin to drink with it.</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Ruth and Liz sneak out of a party, drink beer and escape for a while.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the best people in life are free

**Author's Note:**

> So, this might be the first Davall fic that has been produced (this may be what Whatnot and I have christened this ship.) You know, if I was David Cameron, I could hold up a bottle of champagne and make a joke about "launching a ship"-aha? Aha?  
> Yeah, it was terrible....  
> Anyway, Whatnot, this little fic is for you. Please enjoy Liz and Ruth (complete with all of Liz's wonderful Liz Kendall-ness.)

_We're all bored, we're all so tired of everything_

_We wait for trains that just aren't coming_

_We show off our different scarlet letters_

_Trust me, mine is better- New Romantics, Taylor Swift_

_*_

It's outside, away from the champagne and the ties and the carefully-adjusted suits of every rich old white man talking and talking and talking at every other rich old white man about how rich and old they are that Ruth can actually soak in the grain of the wood under her arse, gulp back a beer that _tastes_ like beer and not the champagne they're drinking inside that costs more than most people would make in a month and just tilt her head back, letting the cool purple of the night air tickle her skin(the night air that's free and warm and better for Ruth any day than the white-shirted waiters and the still-living lobster tank and the folded notes slipped into sharp-closing hands.)

The girl next to her on the table (and any other time, it would be _apart_ from the girl next to her, with almost _any_ of them, it would be apart from) swings her legs and gives a laugh that would be far too much like a giggle for anyone in there, clinks her bottle to Ruth's and gives her a grin to drink with it.

"You can't avoid Corbyn forever."

"You can't avoid Cameron forever." Liz laughs like a giggle again and swallows more than half the beer faster than anyone should be able to. Her lipstick is smeared, and Ruth wipes it with the back of her hand.

Liz winks at her, and Ruth takes a swig of her own beer.

"I like Cameron" she protests and Liz laughs.

"And I like Jeremy."

Ruth feels her eyebrow bob and Liz's grin creases her eyes, and that laugh breaks out of her mouth again, as she shakes her hair out over her shoulders. "I like Jeremy" she says, letting the liquid rise and fall in the bottle as she shakes it a little too hard. "I don't like Jeremy's fucking _politics."_

"And I like Cameron."

"So you keep saying."

Ruth rolls her eyes and that's when Liz squeezes her arm (Liz always does that, squeezes her arm and holds on, like it's nothing at all)

(she's a woman, not a girl, but something about her's too like a girl at times, mischief creeping in like a girl's would)

and then says "Give me a sip of your beer."

"You've got your own."

Liz widens her eyes and bats her lashes and then laughs triumphantly as Ruth hands her the bottle, and then snatches Liz's when her fingers loosen.

"Fuck off." Liz lets her finger fly up and Ruth bursts out laughing, as she takes a gulp of Liz's beer. Liz's eyes are creased and giggles escape around the neck of Ruth's bottle and she tilts her head back so Ruth can admire her for a moment, the brush of her eyelashes against her cheeks, the lipstick that's smudged at her mouth.

"You fuck off."

Liz just laughs again and Ruth looks at the bottle. "Try doing that up in fucking Scotland."

Liz winks. "I will. You can be there" and Ruth knows she'd probably end up throwing a punch at some pissed Scottish guy in a bar in Glasgow with Liz laughing at her side and it would be the headline of the month, the Scottish Leader of the Opposition with her arm around someone who'd be a far fucking better English Leader of the Opposition than the bearded blazer whom Dave's merrily crushing each week across the dispatch box.

"You wouldn't need it" she says instead, lets her eyes drift down to Liz's blouse. Liz beams and tips her head back, slipping one button loose which Ruth would think she's doing for the sole purpose of making Ruth's head spin.

(She probably is. It's Liz.)

"You could always just wear those combats" she says, and her voice is a little lower now.

Liz tilts her head to the side, lets a grin peek out through her curtain of hair

(and she's definitely doing _that_ for the sole purpose of making Ruth's head spin)

"Why?" and she's leaning against Ruth now, her hair tickling Ruth's cheek and her hand curling around Ruth's thigh.

Ruth meets her gaze, reaches to stroke back a curl of hair from her face. "They could work as a distraction" she says and Liz's smile creases her eyes as she looks back at Ruth, two little dimples deepening in her cheeks.

It's Liz who slips her hand into the back of Ruth's hair and presses her mouth into Liz's, their mouths warm and open together. Ruth lets her hand slide into Liz's hair, their noses pushing into each other and their mouths slower and a little drunk, Liz's legs curling around Ruth's waist as she slowly presses herself into Ruth's chest.

They stay there for a while, Liz's lipstick smearing Ruth's mouth, Ruth's thumb tracing her jaw, punctuated by the ring of their bottles occasionally clinking together under the lingering night air.

*

_And every day is like a battle_

_But every night with us is like a dream_

_Baby, we're the new romantics_

_The best people in life are free._

**Author's Note:**

> So, the good ship Davall is sailing. Leave a comment if you liked it :)


End file.
